


We Wear Our Hearts On Our Sleeve

by CaffeinatedWriter



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Daddy Hargreeves does not approve of Klaus' tattoos, Five only takes them back eight days, Gen, Healing from trauma, Improper Tattoo Etiquette, Klaus has good intentions, Mom loves ALL her children, Pre-Series, Rebuilding the Family, Sibling Bonding, Vanya is cared for, ben is still dead, post-season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedWriter/pseuds/CaffeinatedWriter
Summary: Tattoos mean different things for different people. Klaus realizes that for Vanya, not having a tattoo can mean something too.





	We Wear Our Hearts On Our Sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a headcanon I posted [here](https://flea-market-goth.tumblr.com/post/183358392443/klaus-takes-vanya-to-a-tattoo-parlor-much-nicer).

Klaus is no stranger to tattoos.

He walks away from his first experience with unshed tears that burn his eyes and comforts Allison who has no problem openly shedding her own. Dad finds all their ‘pointless weeping’ a nuisance but this is not the last time that Klaus will find that it is less acceptable from him than from his sister.

It can’t be helped. They’re children. The pain of a tattoo is incomparable to anything they’ve felt before but in hindsight, it’s nothing next to what’s to come. Physically, anyways. By this point, Klaus is already harboring the kind of emotional baggage that child psychologists nut themselves over.

Dad insists afterwards that they continue on with their day on their usual schedule like it’s completely ordinary to tattoo your twelve year olds, dismissing their continued tears as inconvenient childishness.

Children are, surprisingly enough, often childish and inconvenient. Klaus has yet to figure out why this came as a surprise to his father, although he suspects that Dad was always just biding his time until they’d passed on from the unfortunate necessity of being children.

That night, they sneak out of their rooms and meet in a small foyer on a side of the house that dad never ventures into, as if Dad was really ever anywhere other than the dining room and his office. Pulling up matching pajama sleeves, they compare six identical black umbrellas.

They’re bold and angry against unblemished skin. It’s something big and foreign and exciting and terrifying tangled up into one childhood experience. And Klaus knows now that it was abuse wrapped up in a big bow like a present, dangled in front of them disguised as something they wanted like everything else about the Umbrella Academy.

Diego stutters through an insistence that they’re cool like he wasn’t one of the biggest bawlers during the process and Luther repeats the line Dad fed him that this is some sort of all important symbolism of them being a team. United.

Allison agrees shakily because god forbid she disagree with Luther’s bias bullshit; he might not want to hold her hand later. It’s an unfair judgement when Allison is clearly so upset but Allison also never wants to hang out with him anymore so Klaus figures if she wants understanding, she can find it somewhere else.

Five says nothing but grins at where their arms are pressed together with a knowing sort of smile that Klaus doesn’t trust. His brother has his own agenda but Klaus never knows what he’s thinking and he probably wouldn’t understand it if he did.

Five has a way of making Klaus feel stupid without any additional effort on Klaus’ part.

Ben says nothing but that’s not unusual for Ben in situations like this. He rarely has anything to say before he’s rationalized it to himself and this is a lot to take in.

Klaus will ask him later and find out that the thing under his skin was less than thrilled with what was happening. That Ben was terrified the entire time, so much so that the burn of the tattoo was more like background noise to the riot happening inside his body.

He’ll whisper quietly that he wasn’t sure the artist would leave alive in the haunted sort of way he talks about The Thing when it does horrible things he can’t detach himself from. But that’s later and in this moment, he says nothing while his fingers rub just below where the tattoo ends.

Klaus has lots of opinions on what happened, some of which contradict each other in a confusing sort of back and forth he feels the itch to work out aloud but is cut off before he even says a word by the familiar sound of Mom singing quietly to herself echoing through the hallway.

They freeze, arms still pressed together which Klaus finds oddly reassuring until Diego is bolting which leaves little room for planning a unified escape and becomes an every man for himself sort of scenario.

One after the other, they barrel back up the stairs and slide with a lack of grace that Dad would be ashamed of into their rooms as Mom’s heels hit the bottom of the stairs. His heart pounds, excitement and fear and adrenaline, and he scrambles into bed as he hears Vanya’s door open with the familiar quiet clicking on wood floors.

So much for being a team.

Vanya, as far as he knows, is blissfully asleep the entire time.

—-

Klaus’ next tattoo portrays the exact opposite sentiment. They aren’t a team and if they ever were, Klaus didn't have much of a place on it to begin with.

He’s freshly eighteen and Dad is still on a warpath from Diego’s ‘defiant, unacceptable, immature’ disappearance months ago. It’s taken out on them all in different ways but Klaus’ own personal hell is in the form of more frequent lectures about his disappointing lack of concern for his potential.

There’s so many in such a small span of time and he’s high beyond comprehension for most of them but they all boil down to the fact that Klaus goes on missions and does  _nothing_.

In the instances where he is paying attention, he barely refrains from clarifying that he does nothing because he hasn’t seen a ghost outside of frequent, unavoidable nightmares in years. It wouldn’t help his case. Besides, Dad is many horrible, negative things but he’s not stupid. There’s no hiding what he’s been doing so logically, Dad has to know.

And if Dad knows then the pointed insistence that Klaus needs to embrace his power is as much a warning as it is their regularly scheduled reminder that Klaus is a disappointment of catastrophic proportions.

So he does what he always does when his feelings are hurt. Something stupid that makes it worse.

In all fairness, Klaus doesn’t regret the decision in the least. Ghosts still terrify him to his core but as far as aesthetics go, it’s right in line with the dramatics he thrives on.

He’s a walking, talking ouija board. And like Dad said, it’s time to stop being childish and embrace it.

The pain exceeds the tattoo they got as kids by a laughable amount to the point that Klaus is almost in hysterics at the thought that he’d cried the first time. He’s informed that it’s partly the fault of the location but mostly something he’ll have to accept as the norm if he insists on getting tattoos while stoned which the artist reminds him, for the fortieth time, he doesn’t recommend.

Klaus thinks with some amusement and much spite that someone is playing a horrific joke on him on a universal scale.

Regardless, he makes it through alright. Klaus would be a lot worse off if he wasn’t capable of housing spine chilling pain and pushing it back down to the recesses of his mind to be explored by his subconscious later at the least opportune time.

And Dad acted as if he took nothing away from the Umbrella Academy. But  _Klaus_  was the dramatic one.

He comes back in the midst of lunch, tactlessly breaking the polite mealtime silence they’d been trained to keep since childhood. His arrival draws the undivided attention of his siblings who are split between worry on his behalf and the shameful thrill they all get when the heat is on someone else.

Klaus has to argue in their favor that that might be the most normal aspect of their sibling relationship.

“Thank you, Mother,” he chimes sweetly as, without a word, Mom places a plate at his empty spot and Klaus eagerly slips in between Ben and Allison while acting as if nothing is out of place. He’s just picked up his fork when Dad clears his throat and places down his newspaper which has the ominous significance of a siren in their household.

Everyone looks down at their plates with sudden urgency but Klaus continues to eat as if he is not about to be obliterated from this mortal plane.

“And where were you, Number Four? Somewhere of utmost importance, I’m sure,” Dad asks and Klaus is almost a little surprised. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Dad would break his own rule just to let Klaus know what an absolute failure of a child he was but as it turns out, he really was that extraordinarily useless.

“Oh!” he says, like he’s just realized falling out of Dad’s carefully planned schedule might have been a problem. “Yeah, see. I realized you were right all along.” The immediate silence is deafening and Klaus offers his sweetest smile.

“Oh?” Dad answers, an unspoken demand that he clarify that he still feels the need to obey beyond just the vindictive adrenaline he’s running on currently. Klaus is thrilled by the edge of hopefulness he detects in the simple response. If he’s going to disappoint, he wants to be the best at it.

Really make his mark.

“Yeah, I’ve really  _embraced_  my power, I think,” he continues, dropping his fork with a loud clang and holding up his hands, fingers spread wide to expose open palms. Open inked palms, skin an irritated red around where the bold ‘ **HELLO** ’ and ‘ **GOOD BYE** ’ are etched.

Someone gasps. Allison, he thinks but he can’t be sure because his eyes are trained on Dad who stares back at him with an indeterminable look that makes Klaus nervous despite everything. No one can really have the upper hand over Dad but the illusion of it was nice while it lasted.

“Do you take yourself as a joke, Number Four?” Dad asks in a voice that it too steady. Klaus wants him to be angry. Wants him to react. To yell.  _Anything_  to indicate in some way that he sees Klaus as anything other than the fourth of seven interchangeable children.

That realization hits him hard and he feels every bit as childish as he’s told he is.

“I think it’s all very funny,” he answers with all the confidence he’s capable of faking.

“Then I suppose it’s fitting that you’ve come to see yourself as everyone else does,” the man responds with zero emotion before collecting his paper and excusing himself from the table. Klaus’ heart drops and he knows he should feel the victory of making Dad so upset that he is the one to leave the room but the reality is that it hurts.

He tells himself that he doesn’t want Dad’s approval. That he’s beyond the point of seeking the old bastard's attention and all he’s really looking for is a sign that he caused some disturbance but he knows Dad is mad and it’s not enough.

Mad only means something if there’s care behind it.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Luther asks with a deadly accurate imitation of Dad winding up for a lecture and Klaus scoffs, picking up his fork and shoveling rice into his mouth.

“Oh, shut up. I don’t need shit from Daddy’s Little Helper,” he dismisses, mouth full and spilling food. He looks to Ben for backup but Ben still hasn’t looked up from his plate and Klaus thinks that might hurt more than Dad’s refusal to react to anything.

“Sweethearts, I think-” Mom starts, ever the peacekeeper but Diego’s gone and things have been strained with Mom since he left so they think nothing of ignoring her in favor of continuing to argue like children.

“Klaus, do you think? What did you think was going to happen?” Allison asks, oh so concerned for the sanctity of their family like she doesn’t have emails to a talent scout a bajillion miles away in California hidden away under all the pictures of herself ripped out of magazines. Who even prints out a fucking email? Allison fuckin' Hargreeves, two-faced beauty of New York.

“Gosh, Allison. I’m not sure. Maybe I was thinking a tattoo might bring us all closer together since it worked so well the first time,” he shoots back and tries not to regret it when everyone grabs their arm in a knee-jerk response.

It wasn’t their fault. None of it was their fault. Not even Luther who Klaus often wants to smother in his sleep as he grows into the cocky assured ‘leader’ their father groomed him to be. He knows they’re all struggling to be relevant in a place where their judge and juror is a man who cares very little for any of them but it comes easier to some and Klaus is resentful.

“I think they’re neat,” Vanya chimes quietly and Klaus points his fork her direction.

“Thank you, Vanya! Someone gets it.”

“Well Vanya also has tattoos showcasing her powers so I guess she would,” Luther cuts in and the gravity of that dig sets in instantly.

“Luther!” Allison hisses but the damage is done and Vanya is pushing her chair back, exiting quickly with her head hung in shame. Klaus watches her go before looking down at his open palms with that gutting empty feeling in his stomach that never goes away anymore.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Allison whispers and they fall into their usual private conversation bullshit, though more hushed and angry than it usually is. Klaus slowly curls his fingers until the ‘ **HELLO** ’ is covered and wonders how long before everyone follows in Diego and Five’s footsteps.

—-

The world doesn’t end.

Well, it does but far be it from the Hargreeves siblings to allow their reality to end in hellfire even if it might be what they deserve at this point. Klaus thinks given the circumstances, they should be allotted the extra time to figure their shit out.

And they really are. Figuring their shit out, that is.

Five wins them back eight days. It’s not much in the grand scheme of fixing years of dysfunctional familial relationships full of resentment and they waste the first five days hiding in different parts of the house and not talking which honestly is par the course.

Waste is subjective, of course.

Klaus spends those five days reliving the hell of the withdrawal his body had forgotten but his mind had not. It brings back the thought that surely this is some big joke, especially now that he is certain that God does not like him very much as expressed by her own mouth.

The fact that God is a little girl who feels comfortable openly expressing disdain for him is the least surprising thing of all.

He reemerges to his siblings sitting in awkward silence in the dining room while Mom happily flutters around with plates and silverware. They were, he realizes, all summoned to the table like stray cats by the smell of turkey and freshly steamed green beans.

“Ben says we’re all useless,” he says in greeting, bypassing a chair and climbing to sit on top of the table at one end. Mom adapts seamlessly, adding a plate in front of him. She pauses, gently cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his temple before returning to preparing the table, humming quietly to herself.

He’s so tired and strung out from the last five days, he’ll be honest and say it takes a lot to not start bawling right then and there.

“I did not!” Ben huffs from behind him and moves to his old seat at the table. Klaus realizes that except for him, they’ve all defaulted to the seats assigned to them as children. He hates that for a reason he can’t come up with without a deep inner search he’s not emotionally prepared for.

“You were thinking it,” he dismisses, ignoring the looks he always gets when talking to Ben. “Everyone get up.”

“Klaus, what-” Allison starts but Klaus doesn't want to hear it.

“Up up up,” he interrupts, gesturing wildly. “Everyone change seats. Ben’s gonna sit here.” He points to the chair next to him where Vanya is currently staring up at him with eyes searching for something, although he can't fathom what it might be. For a split second, he worries he upset her when his intention was only to make sure no one sat on Ben.

And besides that, sitting at the head of the table felt like it carried too much of a weight. He can't be sure if Dad had intended to make a statement by placing Vanya there but knowing who Dad was as a parent, it wasn't something to rule out.

They all just stare at him like he has two heads but then Vanya stands and Allison follows. The boys, in rare show of compliance, take their lead and everyone plays a silent, impromptu game of musical chairs until they take their place in a new seat.

Klaus is pleased to note that everyone scoots their chair over until they’re all piled together on one end of their impossibly long table. Away from what may always be Dad’s seat.

“Great, now let’s talk about the future,” he says, grabbing the glass of water Mom sets in front of him and chugging it like he’s never had the pleasure of water in his life. Mom accepts the glass back with a knowing smile and disappears back towards the kitchen.

“ _You_ want to talk about the future?” Five repeats in disbelief with his smug little thirteen year old face that Klaus wants to cradle protectively and absolutely destroy in equal measure and that, he figures, is what being a brother is all about.

“What would  _you_  like to talk about?” Ben asks with dripping sarcasm and Allison startles in her seat next to him, narrowly avoiding knocking her own glass to the floor with an impressive show of reflexes.

“Jesus, Klaus. Can you warn us?” Allison says, hand to her heart. She stares at Ben like she doesn’t quite believe what she sees even though they’re all aware now that Ben is pretty much with them all the time. “Hi Ben.”

Ben gives a shy little wave, embarrassed that his outright sass was witnessed by the others. Klaus is giddy; he’s so use to the attitude usually directed at him by now but the others are gaping at Ben like he’s got his tentacle friend out on full display. He always was a little sass pot when put in situations he wasn't thrilled with. At least when Dad wasn't around to witness it. 

“Didn’t realize I was doing it. I see him all the time,” Klaus shrugs.

“You need to work on that,” Luther says, all authority and demands already. Klaus rolls his eyes and Luther straightens up, placing a hand on the table that hits just a little too hard. The table shakes and Klaus has to steady himself to stop from tumbling off. “I’m serious. You want to talk about the future? Vanya’s not the only one with powers she doesn’t have a grasp on. Both of you need to practice.”

And okay, Klaus is reluctant to admit it but perhaps Luther has a point on that one.

“Why, you thinking of bringing the band back together?” Klaus teases so he doesn’t have to admit defeat and looks at Luther with horror when he doesn’t answer. “Big guy, no.”

“Luther, you can’t be serious,” Allison says in that soft way she talks to him like if she babies him enough, he’ll change his mind which Klaus personally thinks is the thing she needs to work on, if they’re all picking something.

“What? I’m not saying we go seeking wrongs to right,” he defends although Klaus suspects he would jump on the idea if given any impression they weren’t completely against it. “I just think it would be wrong not to do anything if we came across something.”

“Like time assassins barging into a bowling alley,” Five agrees. Klaus is having a hard time deciding whether he’s being sincere or if he’s mocking them. There’s a good possibility in most situations with Five that it’s both.

“Interrupting poor Kenny’s birthday party, specifically to kill us. You’re so right, the world  _needs_  us,” Klaus says, emphasized with an eye roll. He looks to Ben for support but Ben is staring at Luther thoughtfully and Klaus is aware that’s he’s already lost.

“You both need to take control of your powers. For your own safety,” Diego adds and Klaus would pout about it but Diego is agreeing with Luther on something for once. Something completely valid even which makes it worse because disagreeing at this point would be a setback and he’s suppose to be unifying them. Or  _something_. He doesn’t really remember what the plan was.

Making responsible adult decisions sucked ass though. That he was certain of.

“You want me to be part of the Academy?” Vanya asks quietly and Klaus detects a little bit of disbelief which is fair. No one has mentioned the apocalypse. No one has sat down and  _talked_  about the fact that their sister ended the world and how maybe, in the fucked up way that they live above the laws of the universe, it was a little valid.

You know, for  _their_ family at least.

“I want you to know that you can confidently use your powers, or not use them, when you want to,” Luther corrects and Vanya gives a sad little nod of acceptance while averting her eyes. A low blow but not lacking in sincerity. “And then yes, I would like if you were part of the Academy.”

Vanya looks back up in startled surprise. Klaus wasn’t expecting it either, if he’s being honest. It’s so far from where Luther stood days ago. He recognizes that maybe he wasn’t the only one utilizing the time apart to get himself together.

“We’re a family,” Allison states in a tone that implies very little room for arguement not that anyone seems eager to do so. She leans to put her hand in the center of the table. “Before we’re the Academy, we’re a family.”

“We were already a family,” Klaus argues. A poorly functioning family but one none the less. It seems silly to act like they were better at one when they were so awful at both.  He places his own hand on top of hers anyways.

“We’ll be a better family,” Ben agrees and even Klaus is surprised by the unfamiliar pressure of his hand as it joins the pile.

“And we’ll be a better Umbrella Academy,” Luther adds, fingers warm as they brush again Klaus’ own under the chill of Ben’s. The contact is gentle and gentle has never been anything Klaus associated with Luther before.

“I’ve got nothing better to do anymore,” Five says and he has to crawl halfway on the table to get his hand in which is as hilarious as it is a sad reminder that Five hasn’t had to opportunity to grow up in all the time that he had to grow old. 

Klaus also doubts that Five’s reason has as much to do with boredom as he plays it off although he can’t say he really knows much about Five anymore.

Diego watches this display with his arms crossed as if he hadn’t already talked like he intended to stay. Personally, Klaus would love to watch him pretend that he’s going to leave while Mom waves him off with a smile she doesn’t mean. He gives his brother a full minute before he cracks.

He makes it forty five seconds.

“This is a bad idea. Stupid bad,” Diego warns them but his hand joins the top of the pile.

“Stupid bad is what we do. It’s a family motto. Mom can make us a cross-stitch later,” Klaus dismisses his concern and they all turn to Vanya who has watched the exchange thus far with a silent attentiveness that is so characteristic of her. “Come on, Vanya. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“The apocalypse, probably,” she answers with no shortage of her own sarcasm and then looks surprised at herself for it. Klaus laughs and makes a grab for her arm with his free hand, pulling her in and placing her on top of the pile.

“Then we have nothing to lose,” Klaus says with a confidence he stands behind as someone who has lost immeasurably when he was sure he had nothing left to take.

He catches the way she focuses on her bare arm amongst their sea of black inky umbrellas. Even Ben’s is on display through the blue haze he appears to them as. She yanks her arm back, cradling it against her chest protectively. They stare at her with a worried confusion and she smiles back nervously, nodding.

“Okay,” she agrees, rubbing at the skin of her forearm and the cogs in Klaus’ brain turn as Mom arrives in perfect timing with an entire four course meal balanced in her arms.

—-

Klaus has never been anywhere as nice as this. Even, upsettingly enough, the place where he got his hands done. That shop was a garbage dump compared to this upscale masterpiece of modern decor against metal and concrete construction.

It worked out fine for him but Klaus doesn’t hold the same leniency for Vanya’s safety as he does – did, he corrects himself – his own.

The place still rings the tune of a tattoo parlor though, smelling heavily of hot metal and feeling like the arctic for no fucking reason. It elicits a less than appropriate response in Klaus that he pushes down hastily for the sake of having one normal afternoon with his sister.

“She has an appointment,” he tells the chick behind the desk who looks bored out of her mind and like she doesn’t find any more excitement in their arrival. He drums impatiently on the counter as a release of some of the boundless energy coursing through him at all times. The receptionist practically tosses him a plastic clipboard covered in Lisa Frank stickers and Klaus knows he made the right choice.

“I’m sorry, what?” Vanya asks with some urgency, looking back between him and the receptionist as Klaus brings her over to sit on what ends up being a very comfortable couch off to the side. When he doesn’t answer her, she slowly lowers herself onto the couch, eyes bouncing nervously around the room.

Klaus is pleased to note that he can get through most of the form on his own and is even more pleased that she takes the clipboard instinctually when he hands it to her to finish. Vanya’s ingrained sense of responsibility has her filling out the rest even while she continues to question why they’re here.

“Klaus, I love you. What the fuck are we doing?” she asks again, handing it back off to him. He places a comforting hand on her knee without offering an explanation and pushes himself up to hand the form back.

If he considers stealing a holographic sticker of a rainbow octopus off the back of the clipboard, no one needs to know and Ben isn’t here to call him out in what Klaus suspects is only playful disgust.

“Hi, I’m Tom,” he hears and turns to find a blonde man not much taller than Vanya with his hand out, offering it to his sister. She accepts, standing to shake his hand.

“Vanya. Listen, I don’t really know what’s happening,” she tells him, almost in a whisper like she’s going to form some alliance with this stranger against Klaus’ appreciated but skewed good intentions and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Vanya really might be his favorite sister.

“We’re going to come over here,” the man answers, ushering her over to a large faux-leather chair that smells heavily of disinfectant which makes Klaus’ stomach roll but soothes his lingering worry that he’s going to inadvertently give his sister an infection.

Vanya falls into the seat and Klaus doesn’t wait for an invitation to drag another chair over, plopping down next to her as Tom transfers the design Klaus had emailed him onto her wrist. He pulls up his sleeve, pressing his arm against hers to compare.

“It has to be exact. God forbid. Don’t need Dad coming to me in my sleep and lecturing about my  _poor eye for detail_ ,” he explains, eyes darting between the black of his tattoo and the jittery purple of her stencil.

“Klaus,” she says, softly. Awed. Big watery doe eyes trained on the outline of the umbrella as she gently brings two fingers to trace along the curve of the handle.

“Your boyfriend said in his email to give you a moment to back out if you wanted,” the artist reassures, prepping the little cart next to him with little containers of black ink that remind Klaus of those shitty paint sets good parents give to their kids.

“God, ew. No. Not her boyfriend!” Klaus corrects. The last thing they need in their family is more of that convoluted mess to wade through. “No offense, Vanya. You’re lovely.” He pats her on the leg in reassurance and she laughs, a little watery but he extends her the kindness not to mention it.

“He’s my brother. And…it’s fine. It’s perfect. I just– I’ve never gotten a tattoo before,” she explains, nerves settling in with the decision to go through with this. Klaus understands. Vanya has never been a fan of pain in any form. Klaus can not say the same.

“It’ll just be a pinch,” the artist says, starting up the gun and letting Vanya adapt to the humming. “We’ll start with the outline. Just let me know if you need a break.”

“It’s better not to take a break. It’s still going to hurt when the break is over,” Klaus tells her, drawing from his own experience. There’s something oddly heartwarming about being able to come to his sister and help her with something he knows more about.

Klaus has never considered himself anywhere close to his siblings in intelligence. He’s not stupid although it’s hard to convince himself of that sometimes when he’s spent years telling himself it’s true. Academics were never his forte but in life, there are definitely things he has a better understanding of than a shut-in like Luther or Five who only ever seemed to rule in what was logical.

Logic didn’t always rule the actions of people in the real world.

He grabs her hand and kicks his legs up in an awkward maneuver to tangle with hers on the seat, an action that has the other man giving him the side eye. Klaus offers a wink in response and gestures at him to go about his business.

Tom starts setting in the first line and Vanya tenses, nails digging into Klaus’ hand hard enough that he knows he’s going to have marks later. Vanya’s tough though and settles back into the chair with a determination that emanates false bravado.

That he knows all about.

“Come on, Vanya. Don’t cry. We have to brag to everyone how you were the only one who didn’t cry,” he encourages, swinging her arm gently to draw her attention away from the pain without jostling her. There would be lots said if he somehow managed to coerce her into this and then was the reason it turned out poorly.

“Five didn’t cry,” she argues and Klaus snorts because that is exactly the kind of bullshit Five would pull as a child. As if he was above reacting emotionally. Their father always put too much value on apathy. Now look at them.

“Five is a fucking liar,” he says and revels in the warmth he feels when she smiles knowingly.

The outline is finished in no time at all and the artist pulls back to let them take a look at it while he cleans up his workspace for the next step.

“See, wasn’t so bad. You good to finish filling it in or do you want to stop here?” he asks.

“We have to fill it in,” Vanya says with authority. She turns to look at Klaus with a mischievous look he doesn’t recognize in Vanya but adores the thought that it might have been there all along. “They have to match.”

“What’s the story behind this anyways?” Tom asks, switching heads. They both tense, lost for what was appropriate to reveal. It’s a heavy question. One Vanya might have answered in her book but they're beyond that now. Hardly anyone ever recognizes them outside of Allison. It's their choice again what's known by people who wouldn't ever really get it anyways.

“You know how they brand cattle?” Klaus asks, thumb rubbing at Vanya’s knuckles. And maybe he’s seeking his own comfort in the action but Vanya doesn’t complain and Klaus doesn’t stop.

“Yeah?” the guy answers in obvious confusion.

“Yeah.”

The silence that follows is less than comfortable and Vanya looks at him with a gentle sort of understanding that reminds Klaus a little too much of someone else. He knows Vanya understands what this tattoo means to them. Bringing her here never would have been an option if she didn’t. But he also knows what not having it means to her.

Vanya could have done it herself the years she was out on her own being a semi-functional adult, if she’d really felt inclined. That wouldn’t have changed anything.

This is so much more than a tattoo. The ink is secondary to the intent and that was the difference between them.

“This is that Umbrella Academy logo, right?” Tom tries in an attempt to move the conversation somewhere less awkward, bless his heart. Klaus just wishes he’d stop talking all together but handsome men rarely knew when to shut their mouths. This was an unfortunate fact he’d already come to terms with.

“It’s silly but when I was little, I always wanted to be part of the Umbrella Academy,” Vanya tells him, smiling down at where he’s filling in the bulk of the umbrella. Klaus feels her grip on his hand tighten and he squeezes back.

“I think every kid di-”

“That’s not silly,” Klaus disagrees. “The six months I wanted to join Cirque du Soleil when we were nine was silly. Yours was reasonable.”

“You would have made a wonderful performer,” Vanya assures him, the underlying thanks ringing loud and clear. “We all really enjoyed watching Pogo attempt to talk you down from hanging off the side of the banister.”

“Luther said I was being a distraction,” Klaus reminds her, not that he holds it against this brother. Not anymore. Luther would frequently say things he thought dad wanted to hear back then, throwing the words out without conviction that made him so intolerable in later years. He was good at figuring out what would receive the best reaction and it worked for him. Klaus figures if the rest of them had been as good at it as Luther was, they would have done the same.

As it was, they turned to dying and rebelling instead.

“Fun things are usually distracting,” Vanya says and Klaus doesn’t understand why that hits him the way that it does. Vanya always says what she means and the sincerity of that is not something Klaus is use to. People talk in circles even when they’re not outright lying to your face.

Trusting Vanya is something that comes naturally though and it conflicts messily with the hard learned instinct to keep himself distanced from people claiming they care about him. Care is complicated and unreliable but Vanya knows that in the same intimate way that all the Hargreeves children do.

“Alrighty, we’re finished up here,” Tom practically sings and Klaus suspects that he is more enthused about getting them out of his shop with their odd, sentimentally cryptic nonsense than he is about another job well done.

It is well done though. Beyond some unavoidable minor fading from time, there’s nothing that indicates Klaus and Vanya’s are different in any way. Nothing that makes hers stand out among her siblings’.

Vanya seems like she’s somewhere else entirely as he wraps it up and explains the healing process, eyes tracing the shape of the umbrella. Part of him realizes that maybe now that it’s a reality, she regrets it to some extent. The way nothing feels different with the ink marring her skin.

Nothing is. The change came before this. Is something ongoing. The tattoo has very little to do with it at all.

He presses their arms together again and she looks up, brought back from wherever she'd been lost.

“Matching pair,” he says. “Welcome to the club, Number Seven. Vanya.”

She breathes out, heavy with something he can’t name but is still familiar with all the same. Vanya is much older than they were. The circumstances have changed and more importantly, she took on the mark by choice.

That doesn’t make it any less big and foreign and exciting and terrifying.

She’ll always regret it a little bit. It wouldn’t mean anything at all if she didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://flea-market-goth.tumblr.com/).


End file.
